


hawayein

by maketea



Series: adrienette.mp3 [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Light Angst, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maketea/pseuds/maketea
Summary: you weren't mine yesterdaynor will you be, tomorrowbut today, you belong to memarinette helps adrien rehearse his first date with the girl he loves.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: adrienette.mp3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596409
Comments: 84
Kudos: 638





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [hawayein - arijit singh](https://youtu.be/2TcOnvGsb-k)

Patiently, Adrien held a spoonful of ice cream up to Marinette’s mouth.

She sighed.

And yet, she opened her lips, accepted the spoonful, and even managed a smile when Adrien chuckled, eyes crinkling up like the moment she fell in love with him.

Peach pink like his lips and green like his eyes.

Ice cream couldn’t clog a throat, so that lump Marinette felt must have just been her. She swallowed it without tasting it, and found him prepared with another helping. She braced herself for the same ordeal.

The whole evening was an ordeal, but she’d walked right into it. Not blindly, like most ordeals were walked into, but with her eyes wide open, heart helpless and bared on her sleeve — as it always was with Adrien.

“Do you think this is too cheesy?” he asked her. 

“Of course not.” Marinette took the spoonful, and when he went to give her another, declined with the raise of her hand. “Plus, it’s meant to be a little cheesy. It’s a first date, right?”

He smiled. “Right.” Adrien sucked some of the ice cream off the spoon — the one he used to feed her. “I really hope she’ll like it.”

Marinette fiddled with her hands.

Playing pretend was getting her through the evening. Pretending they were on a real date. Pretending that when Adrien pulled her aside at school, to the bench he had last brought her to tell her about Kagami, he had asked her out — for  _ real _ . Pretending that he wanted to walk along the Seine with her, and feed her Sweetheart’s Ice Cream, and brush his knuckles against hers in that tentative way lovers did. 

He wanted to do all that. Just not with her.

Marinette should’ve bolted the other way as soon as he sat her down. That bench always meant heartache.

But the girl? The girl, the one he was in love with, whom he was rehearsing this whole date for, must have been made of luck.

“I don’t actually know her favourite ice cream flavour,” he said. “Should I get this for her as well?”

“Sure.” Marinette gulped at the thing in her throat: the lump that wasn’t ice cream. “Everybody likes peach.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” He nudged her cheek with the plastic spoon. “Want the cherry?”

She turned, and opened her mouth. He fed it to her, and he was smiling at her again, and Marinette found herself dabbing her lips with a napkin to stop herself from spitting it back out. 

The cherry wasn’t for her. 

But Marinette  _ adored _ being fed by Adrien.

It was too much, however; too sweet, and Marinette had a tummy-ache. She stood to watch a boat break through the horizon and glide towards the bridge. Slender and elegant, body shot with royal blue, it carried a few passengers holding champagne flutes and leaning as far forward as they could to look at the waves. Marinette started doing the same — leaning as far forward as she could to peer down at them. There was a couple, probably around the same age as her and Adrien, kissing by the lanterns. 

Marinette pulled herself away from the railing.

She whipped around at the sound of a guitar. She looked towards the end of the Pont des Arts, where a busker with a classical guitar sat across his lap strummed — a love song she hummed along to whenever it came on, but never knew the words well enough to sing.

Adrien let out a breath. "It's such a romantic night."

And he was right. The ice cream, the boats, the guitar — it was all perfect.

Except for the girl he was with.

_ No _ , Marinette wouldn't go down that route, she decided when tears burned at the backs of her eyes. She may have not been perfect for him, but he was something like that for her.

The city lights, the sunset, the boats, the guitar, Adrien — it was a dream come true, and dreams usually lasted one night.

“Wanna dance?”

Marinette turned around. Adrien had set the ice cream down on the bench, and was standing behind her, offering his hand.

She looked at it, then looked back up at his face.

For practice. He wanted to practice.

“She’s a dancer?” Marinette asked, and took his hand.

“Maybe.” He pulled her in by the waist. “I’ve never really asked her to dance before. She’d probably say no.”

“You don’t seem to know a lot about this girl,” Marinette said.

There was a flicker in Adrien’s expression.

If their hands weren't clasped, hers would have flown to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I just— I’m sure you know a lot about her, like—like most people don’t know I like dancing.”  _ Only you do, in fact _ , she wanted to say, but bit her tongue. “It’s not something that comes up often.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re right. I don’t know much about her.”

Not knowing how to respond, Marinette looked down at their feet.

"If you don't mind me asking…" She felt Adrien's hand tense in hers. "How come?"

The smile he gave her was so sad, she could've reached up and touched his cheek. "It's hard to explain."

So Marinette didn’t push it. She had a few things that were hard to explain herself.

The water susurred beyond the bridge. Marinette’s eyes turned to the Seine. Another boat, with all its glorious lanterns and thick, full horn, approached the bridge. Passengers gathered on the deck, and waved up to the Pont des Arts as they passed. Marinette took her hand off Adrien’s shoulder, smiled, and waved back.

Once the boat disappeared beneath the bridge, she didn’t dare turn back to Adrien.

Because he was watching her.

She wanted so badly to see the look in his eyes. See if they were as loving as she wanted them to be. But she wasn’t sure if she would be able to take it if she turned around, and he was just smiling that smile Adrien often smiled, the one for a friend, caring and loving but not enough to hold her.

And she wanted him to hold her. God, her whole body itched for it.

She played pretend again as she looked out at the river. Pretended that, soon, he’d call her attention back, with tenderness in his eyes, by telling her—

“You’re beautiful.”

Marinette’s eyes snapped back to him.

He was watching her, softly and quietly, the way she had watched the boats. They stood, the guitar behind them, as they stared at one another.

Marinette was the first to look away. “You should say that to your girl. It’d make her happy.”

“That…” He was the next. “That wasn’t a practice.”

Stunned, she almost let go of his hand.

And instead of letting the pain fester, swell, infect, she allowed a realisation to glide up to her, as those boats glided up to the bridge.

She didn’t need to pretend.

Because there: above the Seine, in Adrien’s arms, watching the boats go by and sparkle in the city lights — he was hers, and she was his. He wouldn’t be tomorrow (and neither would she), but this moment belonged to them, because Adrien  _ did _ choose Marinette, just not in the way she expected. He chose her to share this evening with, to entrust his secret, to dance with her like he loved her and call her beautiful like that, too.

Marinette took her hand from his, and clasped both around his neck. She lay her head against his collarbone, and closed her eyes.

Adrien cupped her waist. The guitar had stopped minutes ago, but they were happy to resume their dance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess this is a multichapter now

More than anything, Ladybug wanted to call Chat Noir up and tell him she was going home. She wasn’t in the mood to be out that evening, especially not above the Pont des Arts, where the warm streetlamps glowed above the benches, the ice cream stand, the place on the bridge Adrien had asked Marinette to dance. 

Where Adrien would be asking another girl to dance.

So far, she hadn’t seen him. Ladybug had walked from one end of the rooftop to the other, scanned her surroundings almost three times, but still, no Adrien. Did she want to see him? She didn’t know. Would she be able to handle it? Probably— possibly— most likely  _ not _ .

The date (she always hesitated before calling it that) ended as beautifully as it started. He had walked her back to the bakery, despite her insisting she’d be fine on her own, and, still warm from their dance, Marinette reached up on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. 

“Go get her, tomorrow,” she said to him.

He smiled at her shyly, filled so full with hope, it glowed from his cheeks.

Marinette rushed into the bakery before she could cry.

She scuttled past the customers, offered a quick  _ salut, maman _ at the cash register, and retreated to her room, where she threw herself into her sewing. 

(A few teardrops stained her favourite fabric. She passed those speckles under her sewing machine and kept them out of her sights).

An ordeal was an understatement. It was more than an ordeal — a nightmare, where her chest was on fire and she was choking down so many tears she almost sewed right through her finger. But Marinette wouldn’t give into her sorrow, because there was nothing to be sad about. Adrien was her friend, and she helped him.

If anyone deserved to be happy, it was him. Her heart would mend in due time. 

Ladybug kicked her heels against the top of the building and sighed. Where was Chat Noir? It wasn’t good for her to be alone with her thoughts for so long. Without her sewing, without her phone, without anyone around, it was so easy for her to fall back into that bad place. For her eyes to carry across the Seine and to Andre’s ice cream, and wait masochistically for Adrien to turn up. To see the girl Marinette was playing understudy for.

“My Lady!” she heard behind her. “I didn’t think you’d show! I wanted to ask if you— hey, what’s the matter?”

“Huh? Nothing, it’s nothing.” But Ladybug wouldn’t look at him. She stared at the ice cream stand, a moth to flame (a ladybug to heartache). “What did you want to ask?”

“Well, I…” 

The longer he looked at her, the further his voice carried off. Chat Noir leaned closer. She clenched her fists by her sides: it was that, or shove him back by the shoulder once he got too near. 

And she couldn’t do that to him. Not when he was asking to be let in. 

Not when she wanted to let someone in.

He touched her shoulder. “You know I’m here for you, Ladybug. Always.”

For the first time since he came, Ladybug looked at him. Still, she bit her tongue.

“Would…” And Chat Noir brought his arms to his sides and opened them. “Would a hug help?”

A hug would ruin her. Her composure, her calm, the passiveness she schooled perfectly on her face.

But then she was crashing into him, flinging her arms around his neck, burying her face into his collarbone, and clutching tighter, tighter,  _ tighter _ , until he had no choice but to clutch back.

“Oh,” he said against her hair. “I… I didn’t think you’d…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve needed this since yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Chat Noir didn’t let go of her, didn’t loosen his embrace. “What happened?”

“I…” Ladybug’s hand fell from around him, and she pressed it to her mouth. “I’m not sure if I can tell you.”

He deflated against her. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and let him hold her. She didn’t want to sit with Chat Noir in silence a building away from the Pont des Arts, and it wasn’t fair that she had to. She wanted to hug him, wanted to cry, wanted to tell him all about Adrien and how  _ stupid _ he was and how  _ wonderful _ he was and how much it hurt.

“Nothing at all?” he asked.

She chewed on her lip. Then, hesitantly, “it’s about a boy.”

When he tensed, she did, too. 

Breath held, frozen, Ladybug waited for him to push her away.

“Is it the— the boy that you like?” No part of him had relaxed. Ladybug’s face was pressed against his rigid chest.

She sniffed. “Yeah.”

It became unbearable to sit there in his arms and break his heart, so Ladybug untangled herself from him. She sat, hands folded in her lap, eyes cast down. Still, he kept an arm around her back. 

_ So he wasn’t mad _ , she thought, but almost smacked a hand to her head. Of course he wouldn’t be mad. He had grown to meet her rejections with respect. Their friendship was the most important, as he had insisted on her guilt.

“It’s just… uh… last night he asked me to help him with the girl he likes.” At a quiver in her breath, Ladybug snapped her mouth shut. She started again, swallowing down the dryness. "It was romantic and perfect, but… he doesn’t love me.” Then, quietly, “but I love him so much.”

Chat Noir flinched. 

She was hurting him — just like Adrien did to her. 

Ladybug resolved to be quiet. She wiped her nose with the heel of her palm, and turned her eyes up when the tears swelled too much and rolled onto her cheeks. 

"It's his loss, you know," he said.

"H-huh?"

Thoughtfully, Chat Noir looked out over the Pont des Arts as Andre waved down a couple crossing the bridge. "If he didn't choose you, it's his loss. You're the most incredible girl I've ever met."

She smiled sadly. "Thank you, Chat Noir."

"I mean it, Ladybug." He took her hand, and, with a little smile, placed it on his chest. His heartbeat  _ thump, thump, thumped _ against her palm. "You already know there's one cat whose heart belongs to you."

Ladybug blinked at him. 

Between fighting akumas, and patrols, and secret identities, this was the most sentimental they'd been for a long time. Even the hand he had on her back, a grounding force, was the gentlest touch they'd shared since… she couldn't remember. 

Ladybug, as nonchalant as she could, stretched her arm, slotted it beneath his, and slid herself into his side. 

He tensed, again. She could feel the tip of his nose against her head as he looked down at her.

"I really appreciate you, kitty," she said, and closed her eyes. "Thank you."

He chuckled. "I was just saying it as it was."

"Well, thank you for saying it as it was. You always do."

It took a moment, but Chat Noir relaxed against her. He broke their silence by unzipping his pocket, and fumbling with some plastic before producing a packet of tissues. 

A packet with a cartoon cat on the front.

Ladybug stared at it in disbelief. She'd been to a fair number of pharmacies (she was always running out of plasters, cold packs, or antiseptic cream) and yet, she'd  _ never _ seen a packet of tissues so… Chat Noir. To top it off, it was sealed with a sticker of a shiny black pawprint.

She couldn't help it — she laughed. "Cat tissues?"

"It's always good to be prepared."

She picked at the brand new sticker and dried her eyes and nose. The packet stayed in her lap — he told her to keep it. Something about having 'many more where that came from'.

"Oh!" Ladybug jolted, and twisted around in their hug to look at him. "What was it you were gonna ask me?"

Not for the first time that night, there was a flicker in Chat Noir's expression.

He, not letting go of her, looked over at the Pont des Arts. It must have been getting late: Andre was wiping down his counter with a white cloth, and, after shaking it out, walked around his cart to carry it down the bridge.

Ladybug must have missed Adrien's arrival, but perhaps it was for the best. She'd probably have learned just how many more tissue packets Chat Noir had.

"It—" he said, turning back to her, "it doesn't really matter." Sheepishly, he shrugged. "Sorry for calling you out here so late."

He was hiding something. 

But that was normal, between them. That was what they had to respect. 

"Don't apologise," she said — with respect, as she reminded herself. "Could we stay out here for a little while longer?"

He smiled, and placed his cheek back on her head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein The Kwamis tm get involved

Tikki flew up to Marinette’s shoulder, and watched her use a pair of tongs to pick up another macaron and place it in the box. “Mm, are those for me?”

“You glutton,” Marinette giggled. She closed the oven, shut the box, and, after considering how often she jostled her rucksack, decided to carry it on her walk to school. “I didn’t think you liked passion fruit.”

“I like all macarons! Strawberry, lemon, pistachio— hey, isn’t passion fruit…?” Tikki sighed. “Marinette, are these for Adrien?”

Avoiding Tikki’s eyes, Marinette stood up, box in her arms, and left the bakery. 

Tikki caught up before the  _ passage pi _ _ é _ _ ton _ , and slipped into her purse. She cracked it open as Marinette crossed the road. “Did you make macarons for Adrien?” she asked again.

Of course she did.

Marinette didn’t even  _ like _ passion fruit. After three unfortunate macarons she shared with Alya, she and her upset stomach learned that passion fruit and her digestive system did not work in tandem. So Marinette couldn’t lie — besides, Tikki was the one who handled all of her moaning and groaning for the rest of that night — but she couldn’t tell the truth, either.

Why  _ did _ she make those macarons?

Because it felt right, and with the way her chest clenched, she liked to think it was her heart that told her that. 

The night before, once she said her goodbyes to Chat Noir, Marinette did a lot of thinking. She thought as she swung up to her balcony, she thought as she released her transformation, she thought as she changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth, and went to bed. She thought so much she was left staring at her ceiling so late she was afraid to check the time, because with her brain buzzing and  _ thinking _ the way it was, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping much before her alarm went off.

She wondered if, truly, she loved Adrien.

Because if she loved him, wouldn’t she be happy? 

Her father never passed up an opportunity to gush about love, to delve into his history with her mother, get so wrapped up in his own story he forgets to refer to her as  _ ta maman  _ and calls her  _ Sabine _ . Hehad told Marinette the story of his first heartbreak only once, but it stuck to her longer than the ones with bouquets and ice cream and marriage proposals — the one where her mother rejected him for someone else, and, in a pursuit of happiness (hers, not his), her father let her go.

Theirs was a happy ending, of course, one where they gravitated back to each other like the moon to the earth and decided their happiness was supposed to be shared.

Before the date, Marinette always saw herself growing old with Adrien, growing into her own parents. If she couldn’t love Adrien the way her parents loved each other, was there any point to it at all?

So she made him a dozen congratulatory macarons. Because she was happy for him. She  _ would _ be happy for him, at least, when the pain died down.

“You don’t need to do this to yourself, Marinette,” Tikki said from her purse. “I know you want to be a good friend, but if you’re hurting so badly…”

“I’m okay — really.” Her eyes suddenly felt tender, in a way they’d been doing a lot lately, and Marinette shoved a hand into her back pocket for her — Chat Noir’s — packet of tissues. The tears didn’t come; she retracted her hand gratefully. “Even if it’s as a friend, Adrien loves me, and that’s important to me. I want to support him as much as I can.”

Before closing the purse, Tikki looked up at Marinette. “You deserve to be happy.”

“And I am.”  _ I will be _ , she almost added, but decided against it.

She stopped at the foot of the steps. There was Adrien, sat at the top, fiddling with his phone. No Nino — and even better, no Chloé — in sight. Doing a quick check on her macarons, Marinette took a deep breath, and made her way up.

"Marinette?" He put his phone down. "You're here early."

Her pulse pounded in her ears, but not as they normally did. Not shy, not anymore, but an anxiety that kept her chest twisted like a cable. "I wanted to these you give— I  _ mean _ ! Give you these." 

Adrien's face broke out into a smile. "Oh, wow, all of them?"

She nodded.

"You're amazing. Thank you." Before taking any macarons out, he patted the space next to him. "Join me?"

It took all her strength not to wince.

But Marinette managed. With a death-grip on the strap of her bag, she took a seat beside him.

"So, uh…" Facing her lap, she swallowed. "How'd it go last night?"

He bit into a macaron. "Last night?"

"You know…" Marinette twiddled her thumbs. "Your date?"

Prepared with a red macaron enroute to his mouth, Adrien's hand stopped. Slowly, he brought it back to his lap.

"Oh, well, stuff came up." He shrugged, but didn't allow a frown to cloud his face. "So I didn't ask her. You know how it is."

"'Stuff'?" she asked, opposing the scream of the lover inside of her, and listened to the friend, instead. "What happened?"

His lips pinched together, and just like that, Marinette felt Adrien drawing back. Not physically, not at all — his still ankle nudged her outstretched calf as he bounced his knee — but in a way that made her regret asking more questions than she should have.

For once, she should've listened to the screaming lover. For what she lacked in reason, she made up for with instinct.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to push." She folded her legs back in. "You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable."

"No, no, it's not a big deal." And, as if jump-starting back to life, Adrien finished off the macaron, and offered her a smile. "She was feeling a little down. Something about the boy she's in love with."

"'Boy she's'...?" Bewildered, Marinette asked, "she likes someone else?"

"Oh. Yeah." He split another macaron, and ate half. 

"And… and you're okay with that?"

He chewed thoughtfully, and wiped some crumbs off his lips. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" She realised she was repeating herself, leaning closer and closer, like she did with her father's love stories, but Adrien wasn't stopping her. 

"No." And he shrugged once more. "I guess I don't."

Before she said it, before he could meet her gaze, Marinette turned her eyes to the box of macarons. The sunlight caught on Adrien's silver ring. 

"If… if you love someone," she began, "isn't it easy to be happy for them?"

He looked at her, and she thanked herself for her foresight to have looked away. "Is that what you think?"

Marinette brought her knees even closer to her chest. "I...I don't know." 

For a moment, Adrien stopped eating. He was watching her carefully, scanning her, surveying her. She shrunk in on herself, as if it would hide her pain — as if he could read it off her in the first place. 

"Marinette?" He released one side of the macaron box, twisted around, and moved his hand somewhere behind her. His fingers brushed her back. "Are you—  _ oh no!" _

As he maneuvered himself, the box of macarons jostled, and toppled onto the steps. A smattering of crumbs fell on his lap, and the rest of the macarons lay in a broken disarray around them.

"Aw, man," he said. "I was looking forward to eating those. I'm so sorry." He leaned down, and picked at a yellow macaron on the step to put in the box.

"It's okay. There'll be more macarons." Marinette pulled out her tissue packet, opened it, and offered it to him. "Here. Use these."

Adrien straightened, and stared at the tissue packet. Marinette kept it held out. He continued to stare.

It was the cartoon cat at the front, wasn't it? Without a doubt it was designed for children — she must've looked so weird carrying it around. Her face warmed with a dark flush. 

"It's, uh, it's not mine." When he didn't take it himself, Marinette pulled out some tissue and put a macaron back in the box. "A friend gave me these last night."

"A f-friend?" he asked. "That's nice of them."

She shrugged, and continued cleaning up.

Adrien stopped her with a hand on hers. "Hey, just… just leave these with me." He nodded to the tissue packet. "I think Alya said she wanted to show you something. Something about the Ladyblog?"

"Oh." She handed him the packet, slung her rucksack over her shoulder, and stood up. Before she walked into the school, Marinette looked over her shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay, Adrien?"

He smiled. “A hundred percent."

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It took a whole five minutes of sitting in front of Marinette for Adrien to put his hand up and excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Don’t tell me we have to transform,” Plagg groaned once the cubicle door was shut.

“Marinette is Ladybug.”

“W- _ what?” _

Adrien slowly raised his head. “She’s Ladybug.”

A kick of franticness sent Plagg flying from in front of Adrien, to Adrien’s side, around the cubicle, before back in front of him. He could sympathise — if the cubicle wasn’t so tiny, Adrien would have been pacing up a storm.

“What are you talking about?” Plagg said. “M-Marinette couldn’t be Ladybug. Have you seen how clumsy she is?”

Adrien shook his head. Then, he brought out the tissue packet she gave him. It was much thinner than when he had given it to her — the thought of Marinette crying through so many tissues made his heart twist — and the sticker had lost some of its adhesive. Still, there was no other explanation. He had turned the packet over and over in his hands and checked, double-checked,  _ triple _ -checked every crease and fold and wrinkle he could remember.

“These are my tissues,” he said simply.

“She could’ve bought the same packet!”

“I got these from  _ London _ . You can’t find these in Paris.”

“How do you know Marinette didn’t order them online?”

“Plagg, you know it, don’t you? You know she’s Ladybug.”

Plagg stopped his fussing, and sighed. “Adrien, you shouldn’t be speculating her identity.”

“It’s not a speculation. I  _ know _ .”

“That’s even worse!” Coming around, Plagg settled on Adrien’s shoulder. “Listen, your identities are a secret for a reason. You can’t just waltz up to her and— hey, why do you look so sad?”

“The boy… the boy she’s in love with…”

He stared off at the closed toilet lid. Ladybug had helped someone out with the girl he likes the night before he planned their date. It was romantic, and perfect, and— 

Adrien’s eyes widened. “Is it— is it me?”

Plagg, for once, kept his mouth shut.

“Plagg, is it true?” He jerked around, and Plagg flew off his shoulder and floated by the toilet roll instead. “Is Marinette in love with… me?”

Troubled, he looked back at Adrien. “You shouldn’t be asking these kinds of questions.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Adrien.” Plagg drew closer, near enough to meet his eyes. “You’re not gonna tell her, right?”

“I… I think I have to.”

He fiddled with the fuzzy side of the sticker. It was Marinette that had cried into his arms in front of the Pont des Arts. Ladybug he had fed ice cream to. Marinette who beared a glance of her sore heart to him. Ladybug he had asked to rehearse a date with.

Marinette who the date was  _ for _ .

Ladybug who was in love with him.

Parasitic guilt ate at his stomach; Adrien used his arm to brace himself against the grey cubicle wall, and turned his head to face the toilet. A part of him didn’t want to face her, believed he didn’t deserve to face her. How would she react, knowing it was him all along? That despite all the roses and the compliments and the theatrical declarations of love, he could have been stupid enough to string her along like that?

He had condemned her for playing with his emotions, then went and did the exact same to her.

And although the safe spot of pretension called out to him, opened his arms out to him, beckoned him to keep quiet and act as if he knew nothing and never have to deal with his lady pushing him away, Adrien couldn’t. She trusted him. And he wouldn’t break that trust.

“Y-you’re not thinking this through,” Plagg insisted. “Both of you will be in danger.”

Adrien shook his head once again, mouth in a firm line. “The most important thing is that she knows the truth. She deserves that much.”

Plagg’s ears dropped. “If you’re sure…”

“I am, Plagg.”

Wordlessly, he retreated back into Adrien’s pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

Chat Noir was by the Pont des Arts again, but the longer Ladybug took, the more he wanted to find another rooftop. He was on a time limit, anyway, for it was only a matter of time before someone walked into his bedroom and realised he had snuck out.

His collarbone flared up as he looked down at the bench, the exact place where Marinette had rested her forehead when he pulled her in to dance.

He inhaled deeply, and took in the smell of Paris: the river water, the chimney smoke. 

“Hey there, kitty-cat.” And, with a smile, Ladybug dropped down from the chimney and bounded up to him. She strung her yo-yo back around her hip. “Why the sudden call?”

Chat Noir gulped. Maybe he didn’t want to do this. Maybe he didn’t want to lose her.

Ladybug stopped, tilted her head to the side, and looked at him. “Hey.” She crawled up to where he sat. “Are you okay?”

His lips were chapped. Over and over he ran his tongue over them, to no avail. “I… I have something to tell you.”

In lieu of a response, she blinked up at him.

A shuddering breath. “I made a mistake.”

“A-A mistake?” she asked.

“I— well…” 

Chat Noir fiddled with his ring. Where should he have started? Apology first? Identity first? Or perhaps he should have upped and left, and though he’d be a coward, at least he’d leave unscathed. 

But he couldn’t do that to her. Unscathed or not, he vowed to himself to never lie to his lady.

She looked down at his hand, the one with his Miraculous, and gulped. He didn’t blame the route her logic took — he had destruction right at his fingertips: a mistake could’ve been cataclysmic.

Still, Ladybug gave his knuckles a squeeze. “What happened?” And even then, even after she had eyed the destruction wrapped around his right hand, she didn’t let go of him, didn’t blame him.

He was silent. He watched her thumb rub against his knuckles, even when he didn’t respond.

“It’s okay. Whatever happened, we’ll get through it together. I promise.” Finally, she caught his eye. “We’re a team. Don’t forget that.”

He turned away, back to the Seine and the Pont des Arts and their bench. “I’m afraid…”

“Afraid?” she pressed.

“That you won’t want to be a team anymore after this.”

Ladybug sat back. Her face was shrouded without the glow from the bridge. “Wouldn’t want to be a team anymore? That’s impossible. We’re partners, Chat Noir.”

“I just…” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ladybug.”

Bravely, he turned his head to look at her. She was earnest, leaning over on her knees once again, a crushing grip on his knuckles, and a hand on his shoulder that pleaded for him to open himself to her.

He had to. But he was terrified.

“The… the boy that you’re in love with… the one that did that stupid, stupid thing—”

A footstep, like a clap of thunder, cracked across the street. The rooftop trembled in sympathy; Ladybug and Chat Noir both shot to their feet.

And there was his bodyguard — or rather, his  _ akumatized _ bodyguard: tearing down the road at a hundred feet of dark blue fur and a furious, unbridled roar.

Chat Noir sighed. Sneaking out never ended well.

“Come with me,” Ladybug ordered, and let go of his hand to snatch up her yo-yo. “We’ll do what we did last time. And Chat Noir?”

He looked up at her.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” 

And she smiled at him. He almost crumpled to the rooftop.

Then she was off, and he was following, swinging off the rooftop and charging after Gorizilla. He was fast, brash, and smarter than before — he glanced at a few boys in black shirts and white button-ups, but made no move to grab them. With the path he took, it looked like he was set on—

“Oh, no,” Ladybug cried, snapping her yo-yo back as the two of them crouched metres behind Gorizilla, “he’s headed for Adrien’s house!”

Before Chat Noir could even stop her, she was off again.

There was no method to her movement. She wasn't leading him to the  _ métro _ like they had before — she was chasing him, frantic, her yo-yo flying to and fro.

"Oh, no." Chat Noir scrambled after her. "Ladybug, stop! The plan!"

"No!" she yelled over Gorizilla's footsteps. "I won't let him get to Adrien!"

"Lead him to the station!"

"There's no time!" .

But her shots were coming weak, her yo-yo ricocheting off Gorizilla's blue mountain of a body while he walked through it without so much as a glance. The gates of the Agreste mansion erected overhead; Gorizilla broke into a sprint.

_ "No!" _ Ladybug screamed. 

She clutched onto a lamppost as she watched him, faster than she or Chat Noir could ever be, as he pounded straight towards Adrien's window. 

The iron gate screeched as Gorizilla burst through it, ripping apart the bars, leaving it mangled behind him. He pulled his arm back, and, with a guttural roar, punched a massive fist through Adrien's window. The glass exploded.

Ladybug lugged herself up. " _ Adrien!" _

Chat Noir flinched. 

When he went to put a hand on her shoulder, she shook it off. "We have to go. Right now. We have to check if he has Adrien, or if he—" She shuddered, turned on her heel, and swung after Gorizilla.

Far ahead, she got there much quicker than he did, but still, Chat Noir watched Ladybug hoist herself on top of a lamp post, lips curled into a snarl, her hand launched back to shoot her yo-yo straight at Gorizilla—

And her face dropped.

Her hand fell to her side.

Ladybug stood on the lamp post, completely still, yo-yo hanging off her fingers.

"My Lady?" he called from below. "My Lady, what is it?"

Her voice trembled. "He's not… he's not holding Adrien."

Chat Noir hissed in a breath.

"We—we need to check… check his room." She fumbled with her yo-yo, which fell through her fingers a few times. "Come on. Chat Noir, we need to check."

He swallowed hard.

He needed to tell her.

But she was an unstoppable force, already hurtling towards the open holes of where his windows used to be, and stumbling into his room.

Wordlessly, he followed. He touched down as she scanned the bedroom, stock-still, standing in a pile of shattered glass.

She gulped. "M-maybe… he's in the bathroom?" Ladybug didn't move. "Adrien?"

_ Yes _ , Chat Noir almost said behind her.  _ Don't be afraid. I'm right here. _

"Adrien, are you… are you here?" she called. 

But her voice was pitching, heightening. She was on the brink of panic.

"Chat Noir, I think something bad happened." She turned, her face pallid. "I think… I think Gorizilla might have… I mean, the windows… they're so tall, and…"

He hadn't seen Ladybug like this before — so small, her breaths so stuttery, shaking from head to toe.

"Oh, God." She covered her mouth with her hands. "If I'd followed the plan… if I listened to you…"

"My Lady." He approached her tentatively, like she was on the verge of erupting. "You didn't do anything."

"But I did," she whimpered. "I should've been quicker. I should've been smart, I should've— why am I so  _ stupid _ when it comes to him?"

He couldn't bear to see her like this. Chat Noir grabbed her shoulders. "I need you to listen to me."

She wriggled. "N-no, Chat Noir, I don't feel well." In resistance, her tight fists fell against his chest.

"Ladybug."

"Please let go—"

_ “Marinette _ .”

She froze, dead in his arms if it hadn’t been for her wide eyes under the moonlight. Her lips parted, throat bobbed — a word was lodged in there, barely falling off her tongue, but she was trembling too hard to get it out.

“What did you just call me?” she whispered.

Her fists relaxed on his chest, but Ladybug was stiffer than ever. Even when a cloud rolled past the unfiltered moonlight, and a shadow pulled over her eyes, she didn’t move.

Chat Noir took a step back. He bowed his head.

"Claws in."

Adrien hesitated before meeting her gaze. He shared a nod with Plagg, who scurried off somewhere behind him.

Ladybug's shoulders and arms and legs quivered, and all he wanted to do was scoop her up, hold her together, keep the quivering at bay with his embrace.

But she was staring at him. Unmoving. Rooted to his floorboards. Adrien began to count the seconds it took before she pushed him away.

_ Say something, My Lady, say something. _

Shakily, she brought a hand up.

Ladybug opened her fingers, and grazed them against the hairs on his brow.

Her touch was everything; Adrien found heaven in her hand. She traced a path to his temple, and caressed the side of his cheek, and when he turned his head to bury his nose into her palm, he didn't miss the pulse pounding in her wrist. 

Ladybug's hand moved down, her fingers on his lips.

“It’s you,” she whispered. He braced himself for the disgust, for her to shove him back, to tell him to never talk to her again. But she gave him the greatest gift she could — a smile, so  _ Marinette  _ it made his stomach hurt. “Oh, wow, it’s really, really you.”

Adrien never really knew self-control around his lady.

He cupped her hand in his, lifted it, and kissed her palm with jittery lips. She gasped; he kissed it again. Then her pulse, nose on her wrist and between the veins her costume covered, and then his mouth followed the inside of her forearm, the softness of her bicep, up to her firm shoulder, and it was when he was peppering her collarbone with kisses that he realised she hadn't moved away.

He could hear her stuttering breath. Feel her heartbeat on his chin. All his hesitation was gone. They were a team. They were partners. They’d never leave each other.

Ladybug swallowed.

He chased it up her throat with his lips, pecked her chin, and grazed his mouth on hers.

Her sigh was sweet. "Adrien…" 

"It was always you, Marinette," he said. "All for you."

He felt her rise onto her tiptoes under the hand on her waist.

Gorizilla's roar echoed outside.

Ladybug leapt back, whirling around. 

"A-akuma," she squeaked. "Uh, you gotta transform."

"Right," he said. "We'll talk about this later?"

"Yeah." 

And there it was — that smile.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“I told you to stop apologising,” Marinette said, and rolled her eyes. He could just about make out her face in the evening, with the city lights bouncing off the Seine and turning her skin gold. “It’s okay. Misunderstandings happen.”

“You must think I’m so stupid.” He shook his head. It was still too hard to meet her gaze. Instead, Adrien watched the Seine ripple, and reflect her back in the water. “The date… I laid it on pretty thick.”

She paused for a moment. “Well, yeah, you did. But it’s not like you knew how I felt about you.”

“It doesn’t seem fair. On you, I mean.” He rested his chin against the cold railing. “I wish I hadn’t been so blind.”

Peripherally, he could see Marinette looking at him. She turned back to the Seine, and inched a little closer, so their elbows touched.

“Do you remember Weredad?” she asked.

He winced. “How could I forget?”

Marinette giggled. “Well, remember when I told you I was in love with you? Remember when you came for brunch?”

He made an affirmative sound, still looking at the river.

“I got jealous. Of myself. Because I always wanted to believe you loved Ladybug too much to even consider anyone else.”

At that, Adrien raised his head. “What?”

She was either blushing, or the golden lights had turned her cheeks rosy. “Embarrassing right? ‘cause we’re the same person? You didn’t know that, though. I thought if you liked me without knowing it was… well, me, that’d mean you didn’t love Ladybug as much as I thought.”

He blinked at her. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is…” She slid even closer, and linked her arm with his. “It wasn’t your fault. You were being loyal to who you loved.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Marinette’s lips quirked up. “I  _ love _ loyalty,” she purred.

He laughed, but couldn’t help the heat her voice shot through him. “I really wanna kiss you, right now.”

“Wow, even after that display back at your place?”

Adrien groaned. “Oh, God, that was so embarrassing. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She stuck her arm out over the railing, up to the moonlight. “I never thought I had such a nice arm.”

_ “Marineeeette _ .”

“Heh, just messing with you.” As a boat appeared in the distance, lanterns and all, Marinette rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For planning out a date with me. And for trying to make sure it was perfect. And for letting me cry when we should’ve been eating ice cream out here.” She looked up at him, eyes twinkling against the lanterns as the boat drew nearer. “And for being honest with me.”

Adrien leaned in, and brushed his nose fondly against hers. “I love you.”

And, so quiet the susurration of water almost muffled it, she said, “I love you, too.”

Just looking at her lips brought a taste to his mouth — not that he knew her taste, of course, but he’d thought about it enough to have an idea.

Sweet. Soft. A lower lip that turned plump perfectly in the middle that would feel lovely pressed against his.

He leaned forward; she leaned up.

_ “My name is Andre, Andre Glacier…!” _

They sprung back from each other, and turned around. Andre pushed his cart up the Pont des Arts, ringing the tinkling bell, and set up beside them.

Adrien looked back to Marinette. “Would you like to have a practice ice cream with me, Marinette?” 

She grinned. “Only if you practice kissing with me, Adrien.”

He proffered his hand. She intertwined their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANDDD WE'RE DONE!! thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: [maketca](https://twitter.com/maketca)  
> tumblr: [rosekasa](https://rosekasa.tumblr.com)


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